The Hardest Part
by Isabella Eliza Hermada
Summary: A story about another girl trying to find her way in the world, her family, and love. Named after the Coldplay song. AU. Is it good enough to continue? REVIEW and you shall get free charrie plushies!


Alison was the runt of the family, born small and ill-favored, and by the time she was thirteen, she was still small and ill-favored. Not that she minded. When your mother was a Duchess and picked about every little thing about you, you were glad if she decided to pretend you weren't there.

Born as the second to last of eight children, it was easy to look over her. She had simple, mousy brown hair, and plain green eyes. Not sparkling emerald, like her oldest brother, or green with gold flecks like her middle sister, or a lovely, but simple hazel like her youngest brother. And as one of five girls, her femininity didn't stand out either. Her chest stayed flat, and although she was thirteen, her monthlies hadn't begun.

Her small build made it easy to hide in places even her youngest brother couldn't fit into. And that was where she hid; tucked in a forgotten crawl space where she could read. And read, and read. Reading was the one thing she couldn't stop doing. She loved to write too, but it didn't beat the thrill she got out of traveling to another place in a story.

With a candle next to her and as many books as she could fit with there still being room for her, she sometimes thought her family forgot she existed. But every so often she would be yelled for, and she would remove herself from her cubby-hole, and travel downstairs to be picked about by her older sister.

Her sister was nineteen, and the oldest in the entire family. At nineteen, she had already been properly married off, but when she came home she was a right pain to Alison. Tonight was one of those unfortunate nights. Her brown hair was curled, but instead of producing the ringlets her sister had promised it would, it had turned into a sort of frizzy mess. She was wearing a gold gown, which her sister said would accent the gold specks in her eyes she swore Alison had inherited from her middle sister. Needless to say, it didn't work.

So here she was for the king and queen's arrival, their annual ball at her home, in a pinched corset, praying she wouldn't faint. The royal family had accompanied the king and queen this year. It contained the prince. The queen always questioned her mother how she had managed to bear so many children, and mother would always giggle and look pleased, but not answer. The prince was sixteen now, and quite annoying, according to Alison. He always sat up straight and stared straight ahead, and quite resembled a statue. His blonde hair was combed perfectly, and his azure eyes, feigned interest when he turned diplomatically to talk to her parents.

Everyone else in the kingdom found him "charming" and "delightful". All Alison could see was a shell of a human. She quietly observed him while she sat painfully through the elaborate courses that were served whenever royalty came to dine. The prince simply stared through his food and only spoke when he was spoken to in a dull voice that sounded like he hadn't an original thought in his head.

Once dinner was over, and the adults were chatting amicably about how things were getting on; the prince still staring through everything; she stood, and gracefully dismissed herself from the table. Her mother, like always, looked a little surprised to see her there.

Quickly she ran up to her room and tugged herself out of the itchy dress and pinched corset, sighing with relief when she had freed herself from its prison. Then, taking care, she took her breeches and riding shirt out of their hiding place, underneath her mattress. Before anyone could see her, she ran out to the stables. She could only go out at night, or she would risk being seen. Smiling as she saw her only friend at the end of the row of stalls.

"Is she ready?" she asked as George turned around.

His brown eyes sparkled as he noticed her. "What, no hello, Alice?" he asked, calling her by his nickname for her.

"Sorry George, just anxious to get out there." Swinging herself up into the saddle on her bay horse, she waited patiently as he led her out of the stable. "Thanks again," she said.

"Oh don't get all sentimental on me," he joked, "now get out there before someone sees you."

Nodding she kicked her mare into a gallop, grinning as the wind began to whip at her hair. They raced across the moor, and she sighed at the freedom she felt out here. The only other time she felt like this was when she was reading. With the chilly air on her face and her eyes watering from the wind she almost felt beautiful. Like the horse's mane her hair spread out behind her, and she forgot the painful curls in it. She only stopped when the moon was getting a little too close to the western side of the moor. Sadly allowing her mare to trot back to the stables, she handed the reigns to George before running back into the castle.

Slowly she snuck around the hallways, heading towards the attic, and her crawl space. As she glanced back to check behind her, she ran into someone. Thinking fast she ducked her head under, praying it wasn't one of her relatives. Then she heard a frightfully familiar dull voice above her head.

"Aren't you Miss. Alison?"

Oh dear. She hadn't realized the king and queen were staying the night. Peeking up through her hair at the prince, she smiled at him meekly. "Er, yes, I was, er, getting a snack?" she said, ending with a question, praying he would buy it.


End file.
